Is this life aloft, or heavenward it climbs?
Ponder deeply, or leave it in the sands of time.
The Truth has been told, the gardens bloom,
Fruits beyond taste, as if from the divine’s loom.
Ever-fruiting, beautiful, so pure,
Untouched by age, or any ill’s allure.
They are beyond reach, save by grace,
A gift of mercy from the Loving’s embrace.
O Loving One, forgive, we ask of Thee,
Grant us steadfastness, make us true and free.
For us, a year’s harvest, or stones of dust?
Gold, silver, iron—what shall we trust?
Stripped, pounded, crushed beneath the heat,
“Fuel!” they cry, in this cycle’s defeat.
Another year gone, sacrifice paid,
Yet clinkers remain, and hearts are decayed.
Horns and drums, their battle calls rise,
Yet all is but folly beneath heaven’s skies.
"What grand day!” they shout, in praise they prattle,
But lost they are, in this worldly battle....